FNAF: Scattered Pages
by crazyweirdpickel
Summary: I told you already, you don't know as much as you think you do. I've been watching them since the very beginning. Yes, I sent you the papers already. Although, I will inform you that the papers were mixed up in the shipping process. But don't worry about that. I'm sure you'll put it back together. In fact, I'm confident. After all, our future quite literally depends on it.
1. Why Did He Put Him Back Together?

The desk was littered with papers, wires, and tinted bottles. A middle-aged man took a bottle from the desk and walked up to an examination table in the far corner. As he stared at the small body on the table, he emptied the bottle's contents into his mouth. He took a deep breath then pressed a button on his camcorder.

"Trial number 5. Begin activation."

He rolled the body to its side and pushed its thick brown hair out of the way to reach an unpainted button on the neck. His thumb held down the button as he held his breath, awaiting and hoping results. Five seconds later, the robot began to gasp for breath like a fish out of water. The man covered his mouth and waited. Soon, the breathing spaced out; its chest rose and fell in a coordinated pattern. The man fumbled through the rubbish on his desk to grab his journal and begin jotting down notes.

"Results. Child is breathing steady. Positive-"

The man sprang back when he noticed his creation thrashing and spasming; its limbs jerking and its fingers grasping the air trying to grab anything. He threw down his journal and rushed over there, preparing to press its activation button again, when it ceased movement entirely. The man, biting his lip, placed two fingers on its wrist. He felt the gentle thumping of blood pumping through his creation's body. It resumed breathing and so did the man.

He's alive.

"Child seized for approximately 4 seconds. Child...is breathing steady. Posit-positive results." Beaming with pride, the man took a breath before speaking again.

"Testing auditory perception. Stating child's name."

The name felt foreign coming out of his mouth, but he said it as clearly as he could so that the robot could hear. Two seconds later, its eyes opened. The man didn't realize he was chewing on his pen. The glossy cerulean eyes strayed about the room before finding the man. It rubbed its eyes as if just waking from a deep sleep.

"Daddy?" it said. The robot's voice struck the man's heart. The recognition was unmistakable. He couldn't stop the tears from flowing down his cheeks.

"Yes. It's me."

"My head hurts, Daddy."

Trembling with excitement, the man tapped the robot's arm. "Do you feel that?" It glanced at its arm, nodding.

"Auditory perception active. Nerve stimulation active. Positive results," stated the man, his voice elevated.

"What are you talking about, Daddy?"

"Do you remember what happened to you?" he asked. It squinted upward, trying to recall, then shook its head. "No. What-"

"Recollection inactive. Positive results." Still grinning, the man put his finger over the robot's mouth before it could say anything else.

"You need to rest. Your head will feel better when you awaken," he said softly. He opened a dresser and took out a thermometer, which he stuck in his creation's mouth.

"95.8 degrees and fluctuating. Optimal temperature is 97.5." He brushed hair out of its face. "Go to sleep." The robot remained quiet. After a moment, its eyes closed. The man rose and resisted the urge to do a victory dance.

"I did it," he whispered. "I- I put him back together."

He picked up his camcorder and stopped the recording.


	2. To Prevent The Inevitable

The woman shivered at the frigid wind biting her arms underneath her thin coat. The old warehouse loomed over her. She turned back to the house, which was a nearly a kilometre away, and decided it was too far to walk back so soon. She glanced at the foil-covered plate in her hands. It still felt hot, despite the chilly weather around it.

"Okay," she sighed to herself, then stepped inside the warehouse.

The sharp metallic smell hit her senses, making her feel woozy. She took short breaths to ignore the smell and looked around. Three sets of conveyor belts stretched across the interior; pieces of scrap metal laid haphazardly across the belts.

_What has he been doing in here?_

In the far corner of the building, an industrial elevator gave a happy jingle before opening its doors. The woman gasped in surprise when she saw a man step out.

"William!" she squealed and threw her arms around his sweaty body, not caring that he was covered in shiny white paint. He tore her arms off and walked past her.

"You shouldn't be here, Martha."

Her heart drowned. "But-" She straightened her spine and marched up to her husband, who was leaned over a desk. She held up the plate. "I- I made your favourite. Pork chops." She put on her sweetest smile, hoping he'd do the same or at least take the plate. He lowered the plate and turned away, unable to look her in the eyes.

"You haven't come to dinner in months," Martha pointed out. She looked him up and down, noticing how frail he'd become. "Are you even eating at all?" William drew in his arms, remaining silent. Martha knew what the trouble was.

"William," she said in a scolding tone. "Talk to me. Please." She bit her lip to stop herself from crying. "You can't keep hiding away like this." She rested a hand on his arm and he flinched.

"It's not your fault-" she began to whisper, only for him to slam his fists on the desk.

"IT WAS MY FAULT!" he screamed, his body quivering now. Martha swallowed; her heart ached to see him like this. William lowered his head and Martha set down the dinner plate to swipe his dark hair out of his face.

"William," she repeated, this time softer. "Accidents happen." She dug her eyes into his, focusing on the dull silver of his irises. To Martha's surprise, William nodded and gave her eye contact for the first time.

"I know that," he growled, barely possessing the energy to do so. "That's why I'm making sure it never happens again." He gestured at a box on the conveyor belt left of him. Martha peered into the box and grasped one of many plushies.

"These are Michael's dolls." Some sections of the bear's fur were crispy with old baby spit. "What are you doing with these?" Tears gathered in the corners of William's eyes as he smiled sadly.

"I'm making sure it never happens again," he repeated, his gaze straying to the window where he could see a perfect view of the house. Martha's eyes narrowed as she observed her husband.

"Whatever you're doing, good luck with it," she sighed and left the warehouse.

_I lost him._

The harsh winter air dried up her tears before they could reach her cheeks.


	3. They Should Have

James stepped out of the school bus, toting his heavy backpack on one shoulder. He walked up to his house and frowned.

"Somebody left the door open," he observed, then stepped inside the house and looked around. There was Father, slumped in a chair with his head on the dinner table. _Is he drunk again?_

"Father, I'm home," called James. He tossed his backpack onto the couch with a heavy plop. Father only turned his head to face him. "Hello, J-James. H-how wass school?"

"Shit!" James cried. Father's face had been drained of all its colour; his eyes were puffy. A vibrant red line ran from the corner of his mouth to the side of his head.

"Language," Father affirmed, his voice trembling and carrying no strength; talking seeming extremely difficult. James ran to his father, feeling heavy all of a sudden.

"What happened?" he asked. Father turned sideways in the chair, revealing a dark red spot on his stomach. James' stomach grew more twisted as his question went unanswered. James instinctively darted for the phone.

"NO!" A sudden scream from Father caused James to jump and drop the phone, leaving it to swing back and forth on its curly wire. Father fell back onto the table.

"What do I do?" asked James, his voice a whimper. _Don't cry!_

Father took his time answering. "You'll have to help m-me."

James felt a familiar ache in his stomach. _This wasn't your fault this time!_ He swallowed his fear and went over to Father. "Okay, okay. Um, let's go to the couch." Father only gave a slow blink in response. James slid his arms underneath Father's armpits and lifted him to his feet. Father clutched the chair to steady his shaking legs, his hands painting the wood red. He took a few shuddery breaths before stumbling to the couch with James guiding him. James ran his hands through his hair and sighed.

"What now, Father?"

Father was wincing, awkwardly sprawled across the couch. His shirt darkened as fresh blood began to ooze underneath.

"There should be a... medical book on the sh-shelf and a first aid k-kit in the bathroom." James nodded and, as he turned to leave, bumped into his brother.

"Oh, Michael, uh, hey," said James. Michael did not respond. His eyes, swollen and wide with fright, were locked on his father. Michael went pale.

"It's okay-" James started, but his little brother already put his hands to his mouth. Thin streams of vomit shot past his fingers. The boy ran to the bathroom. James cringed, hearing chunks being spilt into the toilet. He directed his attention back to Father and picked a medical assistance book from the shelf. He scanned the pages until he reached one on open cuts.

"Call a professional." _Hmm. Father won't let me do that. What about Mum? _

"Where is Mum?" he pondered out loud. When no one answered, he assumed she went back to work.

"If no professional can be reached, get a first-aid kit." James went to the bathroom door, remembering that his little brother was still in there. Thankfully, the sound of vomiting had passed.

James knocked on the door. "You okay in there, little man?" The toilet flushed and the sink ran for a minute. The door opened and Michael stepped out, his shirt and face dripping wet. His eyes had a slight red tint. Michael didn't say anything, only stepped out of the way of the bathroom. James grabbed the first-aid kit from the sink cabinet. Michael followed his brother back to the living room.

James dropped the first-aid kit onto the carpet.

"Father!"

Father's eyes snapped open and veered drowsily before landing on James.

"You have to stay awake, Father," said James, rubbing his head as if that would stop it from spinning.

"I know," he slurred. "Trying to." He let out a gurgly cough that made both boys cringe. James continued to read from the medical book. Following its instructions, he took out a bottle of cleaning alcohol and unscrewed the cap. He wet a wipe with the alcohol.

"Okay, Father, I think we have to cut your shirt open," he said. Father nodded. "That's fine."

"Mike, can you-" Michael handed James the scissors and watched him cut a large hole Father's once-white button-up shirt. They could see the wound clearly now- something had cut into his belly about six inches deep. James squeezed his fists, resisting the urge to retch at the yellow blobs inside. _Don't throw up, don't throw up!_

"It's just fat tissue," he whispered to himself. "It's natural." He picked up the alcohol-soaked wipe and said to Father, "This might hurt." Father nodded. "Okay." James ran the wipe over the wound. Father grimaced.

"Shit!" he hissed through gritted teeth. James quickly replied, "Language," and set down the bloody wipe. Father rolled his eyes despite the pain he was in. James picked up the medical book.

"Suture the wound." Luckily, James remembered that Mum had a sewing kit in a drawer. He went to his parents' room and opened the top dresser drawer. _Hope Mum won't mind._ He left the room with a small pink pouch in hand and tossed it to his brother. Michael narrowed his eyes at it, not understanding what it was for, while James went to the kitchen to wash his hands for the second time.

"Why does stuff like this happen all the time?" he sighed to himself, turning off the tap. His heart began to pound as he realised he was the only one who hadn't faced a tragedy.

_Calm down, James. Focus on the task at hand._

James took a deep breath and returned to the living room, refreshed and rejuvenated.

"Okay. Let's... let's do this," he said. He picked up the needle and recalled how Mom would stick the thread in its tiny hole. He licked the tip of the thread and ran it through the eye of the needle. _First try._ With trembling fingers, he sewed up Father's wound as neatly as possible. Michael covered his face and watched with the one eye he had exposed.

"Okay." James set down the needle and thinned his lips at his sewing job. _It's the best I could do._ He took a piece of gauze and taped it over Father's wound, using his other hand to apply pressure to it. Biting his lip, Father gripped the couch cushions.

"All finished, Father," James said. "I'll get you another shirt." As he stood to do so, he noticed Michael had left.

He opened his brother's room door and saw him sitting cross-legged in the corner among his stuffed animals, sniffling.

"What's wrong?" James crouched next to him. Michael shook his head and wiped his face with his sleeve. "It's Mum. She's-" He choked on his words as he began to cry. James watched, not knowing how to comfort him. "What about Mum?" Michael paused before looking his big brother in the eyes, his lip quivering.

"We should have left him to die."


	4. Susie

_They had taken the girl here as a lame apology._

Afton watched her come in. She walked in alongside her parents, her wet cheeks reflecting the vibrant colours of the restaurant. The mother knelt down and said something to her, but the grubby raccoons running around made it impossible to hear what she'd said. The girl gave a solemn nod and then walked over to the Kids Cove. Something touched his leg. Afton looked down to find a chubby face staring upward.

"Mr Bonnie?" the child said nasally. "Where's the potty?" He hopped in place to exemplify his need for it. He didn't see or hear the exasperated sigh Afton made behind his mask.

"Right over there, kid," he used his Spring Bonnie voice as he made a gesture. The boy turned his head toward the direction and Afton began scanning the crowd for that little girl's curly golden locks. He felt another pat on his leg.

"Can you take me to the potty?" said the boy at his feet. Afton scowled. _The things I do for money._ He nodded to the child and followed him to the boy's restroom.

He sat outside the stall, waiting for the boy to finish his business. The child sang a little song- a children's song that Afton recalled singing to a crowd before. The toilet flushed at last and the boy waddled out with his pants not quite on all the way. He washed his hands to his ABCs then left the restroom. Before he skipped away to find his friends, he hugged Spring Bonnie's leg.

"Thank you, Mr Bonnie," he said. Mr Bonnie waved him off. _Now, where is that little girl?_

The girl sat alone at one of the tables, picking pepperonis off a pizza slice. _Perfect_, Afton's brain cackled.

"What's wrong, little girl?" asked Spring Bonnie, even though he knew the answer already- he saw it happen.

"My puppy," she sniffled. "I lost my puppy. Mommy said that he went to heaven, but Daddy said he got hit by a car." Her eyes lowered to the plate in front of her. "I just want my puppy back." Afton felt his fingers twitch. "I can cheer you up!" He sprung into a dance, hoping the girl would smile.

"Thanks, Bonnie, but I want to be alone," sighed the girl before she trudged to the arcade.

Watching her intently, Afton imagined his work complete and squeezed his fists. _I am not giving up so soon._

He crept behind the girl and watched her play her game. On the screen, a little girl bounced happily through a maze, collecting fruit. Afton peeked over his shoulder, checking for anyone who might be watching. _Safe_. He leaned in close to the girl's ear.

"Your puppy isn't lost," he whispered. She stopped playing to turn to him with wide eyes. A look of uncertainty flashed on her face. Spring Bonnie crouched to her level. "I know where he is."

"Really?" He nodded, his bunny ears flopping up and down with the motion.

"**Follow me**."

The girl followed Afton around like a lost puppy. On the way, he stopped at the security office and snagged a toy cupcake.

"He can cheer you up until we find your puppy," he said, handing it to her. The girl studied the black beady eyes of the cupcake, then smiled. "Thank you."

The two stepped inside the animatronic repair room. Stepping over a loose arm, the girl glanced around hopefully. "Where's my puppy?"

"Almost there," said Afton, pushing a mouldy Fredbear suit out of the way of a hidden trapdoor. He took a key off his belt, unlocked the door, then held it up. "After you." The girl peered into the blackness, hesitation crossing her face. She began walking down the steps. Six steps down, she turned around to see if Spring Bonnie was following her. Her sapphire eyes widened as he slammed shut the door and submerged her into darkness.

Afton walked back to the kitchen, grabbing another cupcake- a red one to celebrate what was to come. Her screams rang in his ears. He couldn't wipe away his smile.

_Don't worry, Susie. __I'll come back for you. With a knife in my hand._


	5. Despite Your Efforts

Young Michael was asleep in his bed, hugging his Fredbear plushie. His mother gently shook his arm until he opened his eyes.

"Wake up, Mikey," she whispered. He sat up and yawned. Noticing the date on the calendar, his eyes widened. His mother confirmed what he hoped wasn't true: "Today's your birthday!" He buried himself in the covers.

"Can't I just stay here, Mother?" he whined. Mother pulled back the blanket from his face and smiled. "No, dear. Your father worked very hard to put together your birthday party. Now, up. Get dressed." Michael waited for her to leave before sighing.

_I don't want to get up._

In his imagination, Fredbear glanced up at him sympathetically and patted his arm.

"You don't have a choice," said the bear, "Just get it over with. It will be over before you know it."

Michael left his bedroom, fully dressed. Save for Mother in the kitchen, the house was quiet. He assumed everyone was preparing his party. Or dead. He slid into a chair at the table. Mother pushed a bowl of oatmeal in his face. He watched the steam rise from the hot oats.

"Eat," said Mother. He picked up the spoon and ate, the oatmeal tasting salty with his tears.

After breakfast, Michael and his mother got in the car. They didn't speak until the car was in park and they got out. Mother kneeled before Michael, looking right in his eyes.

"I know you don't like it here, but at least try to have fun," she said. "Okay?" After a pause, he nodded. She kissed his forehead. "That's my baby boy." They walked down a short path to a set of double-doors. Michael felt his stomach wrench and slid his fingers into his mother's. Mother pushed the door open.

The pizzeria had been decorated all-over with multi-coloured streamers and balloons. There were kids everywhere- some chilling at the tables, some chasing each other around the place, some in the ball pit. Michael's body stiffened when the warmth of his mother's hand left.

"I'll be back in a little while, sweetie. I have to check on your surprise," said Mother, smiling warmly. "In the meantime, go find someone to play with." With that, she left.

Michael went to his favourite place in the pizzeria: the table. He crawled underneath the plastic tablecloth. There were plenty of interesting things under there- like ABC gum and child graffiti. And the best part was that no towering animal robots could possibly fit underneath. He knew he couldn't stay there forever- he'd tried that a few days ago. He finds him eventually. He always does.

Suddenly, the tablecloth lifted and a round pink face peered in, startling Michael. He scooted backwards and hit the wall. "Ow..."

"Whatcha doing under here by yourself?" asked the child. Michael rubbed the back of his head, remaining silent. He knew the child- Charlotte, the daughter of Daddy's friend- but he'd never really talked to her before, other than the occasional "hi".

"Hey," she said, "Aren't you the birthday boy?" Michael nodded after briefly imagining telling her "no". Charlotte gave him a toothy grin. "There's candy out there on a table. Want some?" Michael considered it for a moment. _What if they see me?_ He shook his head, mumbling, "No thank you." Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him.

"Why do you cry when you come here?"

Michael didn't speak. _I can't tell her. No one ever believes me._ The more he thought about what had happened that day, the blurrier his vision got.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," Charlotte said and crawled closer to Michael. Their combined body heat was making the cramped area hotter than it initially was. A part of Michael wanted her to leave, but another part liked not being alone.

"My Mommy used to give my Daddy a kiss on the mouth when he was sad." She fumbled with the hem of her skirt. "Will that make you feel better?" Michael stared into her chocolate eyes. Only his mother had kissed him- but on the cheek or forehead. _Only mommies and daddies kissed on the mouth. What's a kiss on the mouth like? _ He nodded and Charlotte leaned in, her lips poked out. Michael could feel her breath on his face- it smelled like bubble gum. Just when they were about to make contact, someone called out, "Charlotte!" The girl scooted out from under the table, her face a darker shade of pink than normal. Michael sighed. _I'll never know what a kiss feels like now._ Then Charlotte gave him a peck on the cheek and said, "You're quiet for a boy, but I like you." She got to her feet, brushed confetti off her stockings, and walked away. Michael put a hand to his face, feeling the warmth that emanated from it. _Not on the mouth, but close enough. It does feel different coming from her than Mother._

"Okay, Fredbear, I'm coming out," Michael said to his plushie. With caution, he crawled out from underneath the table. He squinted through the blinding lights, trying to make his eyes adjust. Then, wiping away his tears first, he marched towards the aforementioned candy table. He felt unstoppable now, like nothing- not even a giant talking bear- could get in his way.

Until four figures loomed over him, blocking the candy from his reach. His heart began throbbing. He wanted to scream that cuss word that Daddy said all the time. The four figures each wore masks- the empty face shells of animalistic robot mascots. Laughter echoed from within.

"Aw, look, it's the birthday boy!" cried one wearing a bear mask. Michael scowled, trying to look menacing, but the burning sensation in his eyes told him to quit. His confidence left as quickly as it had arrived.

"Wow, your brother's kind of a crybaby, isn't he?" said a chicken-mask. A fox mask chuckled, a chuckle that was all-too-familiar. Michael didn't realize he'd stopped breathing then. The tears rolled down his cheeks with the speed of a raging waterfall.

"It's hilarious," agreed the fox before suddenly becoming silent. Michael knew he was plotting something. He glanced around, considering fleeing. It's not like he'd get far, there were too many obstacles in the way and their legs were much longer than his. His favourite table called his name. Then the fox spoke again, his voice low and menacing.

"Why don't we help him get a closer look?" Michael went pale. The fox laughed. "He'll love it!" Michael scanned the area. The grown-ups were on the far side of the restaurant. The kids running about were too loud for them to hear him if he screamed. His body did the only defence tactic he knew.

"No! Please!" he sobbed, curling up into a ball on the floor. The fox dug his fingers into Michael's side. Michael's defence tactic worked- the fox was unable to pick him up. He sighed in relief. But his relief was short-lived.

"Come on, guys, let's give this little man a lift!" declared the fox. "He wants to get up and personal!" The other masks began pulling him up. _No! _His body gave in easily- he didn't weigh much. Michael squirmed and flailed but it was no use. The big kids were too big. They carried him closer and closer to the stage. Michael kicked his little legs as fast as he could. One of his legs flew into a table and he gasped at the shock of pain. He choked on the snot and tears running into his mouth.

"No! I don't want to go!" he cried. His thrashing had lost all energy while he had lost all hope of escaping. He saw the stage and the monstrosities standing on top. His heartbeat grew louder than the pizzeria ambience. The fox seemed to glare evilly at him. Michael knew a malevolent grin hid behind the mask.

"You heard the little man! He wants to get even closer!" chortled the evil fox. The friends joined in on his laughter. Michael stared wide-eyed at the giant creatures jerking their extremities and rotating their bodies. Their plastic eyes stared endlessly at the crowd before them. Desperate for escape, Michael did the second-only defence tactic he knew: he closed his teeth around the fox's exposed skin. Howling in pain, the fox drew his arm back. Michael felt a smirk appear on his face. _Take that! _The fox growled that word Daddy said all the time. Michael opened his mouth to tattle but decided that now wouldn't be a good time. The fox was silent; plotting again.

"Hey guys, I think the little man wants to give Fredbear a big kiss!" he said and made a kissing noise as an example. Michael's ears burned. _Did they see me with Charlotte?_ The burning left when he really thought about what they'd said. Kissing would require one to get close. To grab the attention of anyone nearby, Michael let out a high-pitched scream. Nobody around cared, but the chicken raised her hands.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this," she said to the fox. Michael nodded weakly, hoping the fox would listen. Green eyes glared through the sockets of the fox mask.

"We are doing this," said he, "or are you just chicken?" The other masks snickered. Michael saw the chicken girl's eyes roll. "Very funny, James." The boy behind the fox mask grinned.

"Alright, on three. One..." Michael started thrashing again but knew he couldn't break free no matter how hard he tried.

"Two..." The kids lifted him up in front of the animatronic bear as if offering his small body as a sacrifice. Michael kicked the bunny mask off a face but the kid refused to let go.

As the teens cried, "THREE!" they threw Michael into the jaws of Fredbear, the friendly bear.

Michael plunged into musty darkness, the acrid smell of hot metal burning his nostrils.

"Help!" he shrieked, not sure if anyone would hear. Michael clutched the fur on Fredbear's face and anchored his legs on Fredbear's chest, then began to push. Fredbear's robotic singing blared in his ears, but not as loudly as the sound of his laboured breathing. His neck slid past bulky plastic teeth and he retched involuntarily. _Almost free!_ He took a breath and blinked away tears before pushing again. A piece of metal jabbed just above his eye, slicing into his skin. His arm shot up to reach for his eye but instead smacked Fredbear's cheek. More metal tore his chin when his mouth opened to belt a cry of frustration. Hot tears ran down his cheeks and hot sweat and blood ran down the rest of his face.

"James, he's stuck in there!" Michael heard a muffled voice cry. James shouted something back, but Michael didn't hear what he said- it was something about Fredbear closing his mouth. He screamed again, this time a low breathy one. The back of his throat burned with the rising acid from his clutched stomach.

_I'm stuck_, he realised. _I can't escape. _So he stopped struggling. Then the music playing inside Fredbear's mouth came to a halt. _Click._

There was a scream, followed by a horrific crunch. The hot darkness slipped away along with his grasp on fur. Everything seemed to get heavier all of a sudden. He heard distant voices chattering and shouting, but they soon faded, along with the pain and the rest of the world.


	6. You Finally See

_Almost finished_, Martha thought as she carried her broom into the bedroom. _The last room to clean._ She flicked the light switch and the walls illuminated with warm orange tones from the ceiling lamp. With her broom, she swept all the rubbish out of the black hole living beneath the bed. Among the pile sat a tangled mass of wires, circuit boards, and endoskeleton joints.

"His mess," she sighed, shaking her head, "he can clean this up himself." She removed the paper balls and dust bunnies from the pile and left the rest.

She opened the closet, where a clothing wall had formed over the past few weeks. _Another one of his messes._ She sorted the clothes into piles of whites, colours, and undergarments. The closer she got to seeing the floor, the more and more a gut-wrenching smell revealed itself. Martha forced a deep breath to conceal a gag as she fished through the remaining clothes. With one hand, she held up the source, and with the other, she pinched her nose shut. The source was a button-up shirt, once white but now stained with speckles of reddish-brown. The sharp stench wafted in the air around her. It was the second shirt she'd found like this. Martha added the soiled clothing to the rest of the pile. She wasn't going to ask about it; she knew what her husband was capable of.

Martha pushed the corner of the dresser away from the wall to find another pile of mess. Among this pile, a certain leather book caught her attention. She picked up the book and swiped the dust off its cover. _His diary._ He'd never let her view its contents, not over his dead body, so holding it now felt like a violation.

She opened it and absorbed everything. Her husband wrote in a messy, almost incomprehensible fashion, but she was accustomed to it at this point. He wrote of scientific discoveries and robotics achievements. Martha smiled at his excited voice in the entries. But her smile died when she turned the pages. The words seemed to shake and grow more vehement the deeper she delved. Her brain urged her hands to put the book down but she couldn't stop; couldn't tear her eyes away for one second. Some of the pages were stained red. He'd written of robots and souls and children and _blood_ and _killing_ and _death_.

Martha slammed the book closed, set it down, and pushed the dresser back against the wall. She shut her eyes as if that would make her forget. Her brain reminded her of the soft memories with her husband, how they would dance together. _One and two and plie, three and four, j__eté... _Her newfound knowledge corrupted the memories. She could now remember important details; red flags that she'd somehow missed before- how his fingernails would have mystery substances underneath them and how his robot sketchings looked rather questionable. She imagined him dancing, clutching the tiny hands of children, _dripping with their blood_-

Martha clutched her dizzy head, her stomach wrenching. _Stop thinking about it!_ Her mind went to the children- their children, their rosy cheeks and bouncy curls, but those memories were corrupted, too. Their baby girl, she'd assumed she just ran off but instead a worse fate had befallen her. And their baby boy? She saw the aftermath and never questioned how he could have survived. _A miracle_, she'd thought. But no, her husband **did it again**.

_I can't stay silent any more. I have to-_

She jumped at the loud clicking sounds of the front door unlocking; her husband just-so-happened to be arriving from work. I_ have to run_, her mind went, even though there was no reason to flee just yet. She snatched the book on her way out.

"Hello, my love," greeted her husband as he hung his coat and hat. "Brew a pot of tea, will you?" Martha's legs were stuck to the floor; no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't walk away. She met his eyes and locked her gaze.

"No," she said. Her brain screamed, but it was too late to abort. She outstretched the book so he could see it. "Not until you tell me about this." Her husband flashed a strange look; it was unrecognizable. Was it anger? Disappointment? Fear? The uncertainty of his face brought a sick feeling to Martha's stomach.

"You've found my journal. I had misplaced it a week ago," he said after a long pause and approached her to take it. His fingers curled around the book's leather backing and tugged, but Martha had a firm grasp. She felt a sob coming, rising up the back of her throat like bile.

"Martha," he said with the voice of a child pleading for their desires. "If you would just hand it over, we can talk." Martha could hold the journal but couldn't hold back her tears.

"You killed those kids," she declared. Her eyes burned as hot tears flowed down her cheeks. "I didn't believe them at first. I didn't think that my- that you would be capable of doing something so- so _evil_!" William didn't say anything. She continued with a shaky voice. "You lied to me- you lied to everyone! And-and Elizabeth! That was _your_ fault! You couldn't live with yourself after that little f**k up!" Martha stomped her foot, rage boiling in her chest so hard she quivered. She couldn't stop herself now. "Michael's death was just an accident, Will! Why couldn't you just accept that? Why couldn't you let his little soul rest? But NO, you had to go and-and do the impossible! You aren't God, William, you're just a sad man with a knife collection!" William remained hushed.

"Say something, dammit!" Martha screamed, unable to take the silence.

After a pause, he finally said something. "What do you want me to say? 'Sorry'? That won't change anything; won't undo the things I've done." Martha wanted to scream again but her energy had been sucked dry.

"Why?" she forced the tiny word out of her mouth. William's face was blank. He hesitated to answer. "No one could ever understand the way I think. I suppose that's why my actions in the past have been deemed... unright and- mmm, you could say evil. But you've got to understand that everything I've done was for the sake of science, and everything I've done for this family was done out of love." Martha shook her head as if that would shake his words out of her ears. "Love?! You-"

"I thought you'd be happy I- I put him back together."

"You think a piece of scrap metal will replace my baby boy?! You think building a robot is the solution to all your problems?!" Martha shot her words into his face like poisoned arrows and stopped when she saw the hurt lacing his dull grey eyes. She stared at the contours; the blemishes; the whiskers on his face. _Did he ever love me? Or was that decade only a fever dream?_

Martha opened her mouth to start again but a creak in the hallway caused the couple to whirl in its direction.

"Michael!" Martha screeched. She could hardly recognize the little boy standing in the doorway. _Did he hear us?_ she thought. Before striking a smile, she pushed the horrid journal into William's hands. "What is it, dear?"

"I'm having trouble with my homework, Mummy," he said and held it up for her to see. Martha approached him as if he were going to suddenly enlarge and bite her head off. She took the notebook from his tiny hands and held it with her own shaking hands, but she was unable to read it with the tears in her eyes blurring her vision. She looked back to the thing standing at her feet acting as her child. Biting her lip, Martha crouched to face Michael and rested her hands on his chubby cheeks, then leaned her forehead into his, feeling his body warmth spread on her skin.

"What are you doing, Mummy?" he asked. Martha focused on his eyes- round, sparkling, and a beautiful baby blue.

"My sweet baby boy," she sniffled and tangled her fingers in his soft brown hair.

_He still feels real to me._

She forced herself to stand but didn't let go of his hair. "I'm sorry, Michael." He wore a look of confusion.

"Are you alright-" he started, but Martha broke his statement of concern, "Now, to your room. I'll be there to help you in a pinch." He nodded. "Okay, Mummy." She gave him his notebook back and he disappeared into the hallway. Martha turned back to her husband, who had leaned over the dining table. Her eyes strayed to the front door just beyond him.

_It would be so easy._

Martha squeezed her fists tight. _I could start a new life... _She checked on her husband again. He was still caught in a daze.

_William isn't watching._

She practically ran to the door and swung it wide open. In the doorway, she took a big breath of the outside air. _Freedom starts with one step._ Martha hung one foot over the front deck, reluctant to leave everything behind. _Take the step. _

"Martha!"

An iron grip crushed her wrist. "Ow!" She whirled halfway to see William there, preventing her from leaving.

"You're hurting me!" she cried out, but William didn't seem to be listening. He dug his eyes into hers.

"Please, Martha, I-" babbled William, a tear on his face, "I don't want to be alone." Martha felt her body relax. _Stop it! _She fell into his gaze, becoming almost hypnotized. _I can't leave my big bear behind. _Her silence made him tighten his grasp. The force slapped Martha out of her trance.

"I _refuse_ to love a murderer," she growled. She watched William's face snap, going from sombre to hurt to pure emptiness. Martha was going to use this opportunity to escape when she saw the glint of a knife. _No!_ The shriek caught in her throat as a sharp pain spread throughout her chest. Her mouth opened and closed, trying to form words.

"Me too?" she rasped, already feeling her body going limp. Clutching her, William dropped to his knees and screamed in anguish. "I'm sorry, Martha! I didn't mean-" Martha swallowed the thickness increasing in her throat. "Everyone around you... dies." William hung his head, his long dark hair sprawling all over Martha's face.

"I'm sorry," he kept repeating, his voice growing quieter. Martha's vision began to blur. She knew time was running out.

_Grab the knife._

With her last ounce of energy, Martha ripped the knife out of her chest and plunged it into William's stomach.

"NO!" he hollered and, with a trembling hand, pushed down on Martha's wound. The blood seeped through his fingers. He couldn't save her.

"Stop," Martha spat the word out. William locked eyes with her, tears forming in his.

"I can't lose you too," he wheezed as a drop of blood began to form in a corner of his mouth. Martha used all her muscles to smile. "You already did." She took her last breath staring at the silver eyes of the man that was once her lover.

Martha Afton was dead.


	7. Fritz

_His aunt had taken him here to get out of babysitting._

In a Spring Bonnie suit, Afton peered through the window, watching a little redhead with a pirate shirt on hop out of a car and race inside. His aunt followed behind, not bothering to pick up her pace and catch up to the boy._ He must do this often, _Afton noted. The boy skipped three feet past the giant bunny before noticing. His smile faded as he caught eye contact.

"Hey, little boy!" Spring Bonnie greeted, waving. The boy stared blankly, then reared his leg back and swung it into the man's shin.

"Little shit," Afton hissed when the boy ran off, grimacing at the springlocks tightening around his leg. Just when he was about to run and get the handcrank, the boy's aunt approached.

"Sorry about him," she said. "He's only four and I'm been trying to teach him some manners." She snorted to herself. "His parents did a horrible job of it."

"It's alright, miss," he replied, holding back a smile as he thought about how he was going to teach the child some manners. He peered over the woman's shoulder, searching for the boy.

"So, your job is to stand there and greet people?" She couldn't hear Afton's muffled sigh. "Yes." The aunt squinted as she examined the costume. "Doesn't that get uncomfortable after a while? Do you get breaks?"

"I am the manager, so, technically, I can take breaks whenever. And yes, standing here in this hot animal suit can be... irritating at times," he replied. The aunt nodded. Afton looked past her again. _Where'd the child go?_

"So how is it- being the manager and running everything?" she asked. The manager paused, wishing she'd just walk away. "I just handle the finances, really. I'm not supposed to be out in costume, but the guy who is supposed to be left early, so here I am."

"Neat. Well, thank you for the chat, " she said and began to walk away. Afton was in the middle of a sigh when she turned on her heels. "Oh, one more thing. How do I sign up for the mailing list?"

"I'd have to get you a paper," he muttered just loud enough for her to hear, "from my office." The lady watched him, waiting for him to do just that. _Fine._ He left his post by the door and pushed through the crowd. The red-head caught his eye- he was playing in the arcade with one other kid. _Damn. He's not alone. _He got to the office and opened the door.

"That's a nice office," the lady said in Afton's ear, making him recoil._ Why are you following me? _He grabbed the paper from an unorganised file cabinet and handed it to her, monotoning, "Just fill it out and hand it to one of our workers."

"Thank you," she dragged out her words, "Mr..."

"Ah, Afton. William Afton."

"Thank you, Mr Afton. Have a nice day." She finally walked away. _I certainly will, _thought Afton.

He found the little boy still the arcade. Alone.

"Are you winning?" asked Spring Bonnie. The boy didn't answer; kept mashing the buttons. On the screen, an 8-bit man wearing overalls jumped on bipedal turtles. After running into a frowning mushroom, the man fell off the screen. The boy slammed his hands on the console, groaning in frustration. He turned to the costumed man next to him.

"You made me lose!" he cried. "Asshole!" Afton blinked.

"Watch your language, kid," he muttered in his normal voice. The boy's tongue flickered. "You're not my mommy. Or my auntie." Afton pondered on his options. _This one is stubborn. _Then, grinning, he chose a new card.

"Hey, want a lollipop?"

The boy's lips stretched into a smile. "Yeah!" He hopped in place. Three seconds later, the boy stopped and his mean face returned.

"Where is it?" he snapped, his hands on his hips.

"I'm gonna get you a special lolly," Spring Bonnie replied. "But you have to follow me." The boy shrugged. "Okay."

To Afton's surprise, the redhead kept on his heels and remained quiet. They entered the animatronic repair room. He glanced about the room, gawking at the scrap parts and loose robot heads on the shelves, then asked, "Where's my lollipop?" Afton pushed the old Fredbear aside.

"Down here," he grunted as he held the trapdoor open. He stared down the steps and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "It's dark." Afton crouched and put a fluffy hand on his shoulder.

"You have to be brave," he said, then added, "like a pirate. Pirates are really brave." After a pause, the boy nodded. "You're coming too, right?"

"Of course," he lied.

The boy began. After five steps, he turned back to make sure Spring Bonnie was following. Afton let go of the trapdoor and watched the boy sprint only for it to close in his face. He locked the trapdoor and waltzed out of the repair room. Unable to contain his excitement, he whistled down the hallway. He snagged a cupcake from the kitchen and took off his rabbit mask to shove it into his mouth, then put the mask back on.

"Mr Afton?" The huge chunk of cake slithered painfully down his throat. The boy's aunt stood in front of him, tightly clutching her purse. Afton coughed a "yes?".

"You haven't seen Fritz, have you? The boy I was with? Red hair and freckles?" Her voice wavered as she held back her tears. "I can't find him anywhere."

"I last saw him in the arcade," Afton replied. She let out a shuddery breath. "But he's not there now..." Afton blinked and the woman threw her arms around him. He held his hands up, not knowing what to do with them. The distressed aunt stepped back and bit her lip, blushing.

"I'm sorry, Mr Afton, I just- I really needed a hug," she sobbed. "I'm just... I'm worried about him. There's been stories of children going missing here and Fritz wouldn't hesitate to leave me to leave with anybody else." She paused to sniffle. "I'm a terrible aunt." She embraced Afton again, sobbing into the golden fur of his suit. Afton gave her back a pat.

"It's alright, miss," he told her. "You do everything you can to take care of your nephew, despite your current living situations." She didn't question why he knew that much; only nodded. After a bit, she broke the hug and wiped her face.

"Thank you, Mr Afton," she said with a teary-eyed smile, then added, "You're very nice." Afton caught himself awkwardly rubbing his costume hand. _I'm nice when I want to be._

"I don't know what to do," the aunt said, breaking the awkward silence between them. "I already asked around- should I call the police?"

"No, no, I don't think that'd be necessary," Afton answered quicker than he should have. Her eyebrows dropped, her face forming a look of scepticism, and he added hastily, "Besides, _if_ a kidnapper was involved, having the police arrive would only make him run."

"Good point," the lady realised. She hugged herself. "What can I do then?" Afton chewed his lip, thinking of something to reply.

"Maybe he just ran outside- into the parking lot." A spark of hope flickered in her eyes. She darted for the exit, yelling behind her, "Thank you, Mr Afton!" When she left, he released a heavy sigh.

"That was close," he mumbled. Another suit approached. Afton muttered, "Taking a break," and left before whoever was inside it asked him anything.


	8. No Acceptance

"James, he's stuck in there!" cried Nicole, her eyes bulging from her Chica mask as she watched James' little brother flail helplessly in the mouth of Fredbear. The goofy grin on James' face disappeared. He tore his gaze from his brother and tried to swallow away the sudden thumping in his throat. _He's fine. He'll get outta there._

"Don't worry so much," he said, moreso to himself than her, "It's not like Fredbear's gonna... close his mouth and-" Fredbear's muffled singing stopped. Brett clutched his Bonnie mask to his chest, his mouth stretched. Aaron put a hand over the mouth of his Freddy Fazbear mask. James pushed his mask to the top of his head. _Oh no. I jinxed it, didn't I?_

A sickening crunch echoed through the pizzeria that fell silent shortly afterwards.

James blanched.

"Little man?" he called. "You can stop kidding now." Aaron and Brett stared with red eyes, their mouths hanging open.

"I told you so," said Nicole before tears streamed down her cheeks. James climbed on top of the stage. All the junk food in his stomach threatened to shoot out of his mouth when he saw what had truly happened. Blood ran down Fredbear's golden fur, discolouring it. The eight-year-old in Fredbear's mouth had gone limp. James backed off the stage, not once taking his eyes off Fredbear as if he'd suddenly pounce and bite him, too. Then he ran.

He pushed open a cracked door and stepped inside an office decorated with stacks of documents and crumpled-up paper everywhere. Father's office.

"Father!" he screamed. His voice, high and wavering, was almost unrecognizable. Father turned halfway in his swivel chair, not taking his eyes off an open folder on his desk.

"James, what have I told you about..." Father began but, glancing up and seeing the shaking, red-faced boy in the doorway, his words trailed off. James had only seen the expression that appeared on Father's face one other time. He wanted to explain, but his throat refused to produce sound. He made a desperate hand-gesture for Father to follow him.

Father gasped when he saw it. Some kids had stopped playing to stare. Father climbed up on stage.

"Mikey?" he said and patted the boy's arm. No response. "Michael!" Father whirled and screamed at the people sitting at the tables.

"Help! Everyone, help me! My boy, he's-" Some parents rose from their seats and rushed over. In a second, their faces went from happy to terrified.

"Oh my God!"

"Is he okay?"

Father shoved his fingers into Fredbear's mouth and gestured for the other parents to do the same. After a bit of tugging, Fredbear's jaw clicked and snapped open, freeing the boy inside. Father caught him and turned to face the crowd of worried faces. James choked on his breath. Lines of red dripped down the child's misshapen head as it flopped against Father's chest. Father looked to James, his lip quivering.

"What have you done, James?!"

His knees buckling, James felt like someone had slammed a car onto his back. The people around him began to stare. He opened his mouth but what was there to say? He'd just killed his brother. James ran away from the scene, tears streaming down his face. _I'm a murderer._

Father couldn't breathe. He watched with glossy eyes as paramedics carried away his youngest son on a cot.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!" His wife pushed through the crowd, screaming and demanding answers. She marched in front of Father on stage.

"William!" she yelled, her voice wavering. "What happened?" He didn't look her in the eyes, only stared past her with an unfocused gaze.

"It happened again," he whimpered. He turned to face the real killer- Fredbear. The animatronic's teeth were coated in blood. William glared into its eyes. _I'm going to dismantle you._ Fredbear lowered his head, locking stares with him. The robot's eyes began to glow white.

"**IT'S ME.**"

William shrieked, jerking backwards and falling off the stage. He hit the back of his head on the hard tiles. As his vision blacked out, he could only watch the bear loom over him with a malevolent grin on his face.

* * *

James glanced at the ticking clock, breathing in the sharp antiseptic smell that wafted into his nose. Every slow beep of the heart rate monitor sent hair-raising shivers down his spine. He could see Father's silhouette in the window, along with the doctor's. He couldn't look at the boy in bed before him; with tubes running through his nose and mouth.

"Michael," he said with a hushed tone. "Can you hear me? I don't know if you can hear me." His voice whimpered as he spoke. "I- I'm sorry." He took his brother's hand as if it would suddenly shatter if he was too rough. The hand felt cold to the touch. A tear rolled off his face and onto the white blanket that covered Michael's body. He buried his face in his little brother's chest, still clutching his hand, and listened to the slow, faint thrumming of his brother's heart continuing to beat.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

_I really am. I didn't mean for this to happen._

An approaching commotion just outside the room snapped him out of his trance. James sat up and peered through the window. Down the hall, a shirtless Father punched and shoved several doctors out of his way. It didn't take long for him to reach the room. The door swung open and Father entered, switching from scowling to crying in one second. James shot up from the chair and backed to the wall to let Father have his moment. Father slumped into the chair with his head down, his long hair covering his eyes that dripped tears. After an eternity, he sat upright, startling James. Father leaned forward and reached out to stroke his youngest son's hair but drew it back, hesitant. He settled for grabbing the boy's hand.

A loud beep rang in his ears, followed by James' screams. William wiped his tears away and stood up. _He's gone. There's nothing I can do._

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" James whimpered the same words over and over, his entire body heaving with his sobs. William clamped a hand over James' mouth to get him to shut up, his eyebrows raised. _There is something I can do._ His emptiness was replaced with a burning feeling he recognised as determination.

"I will put you back together," he declared to Michael's body. He walked out of the room and dragged his oldest son with him, all the while grinning ear-to-ear because he knew that he wouldn't quit for one second what he was about to do. James paused his crying to raise an eyebrow. _The Hell is he smiling about?_


	9. Why Did That Happen?

_She's perfect_, thought Elizabeth, eyeing the dancing girl whose candy apple red tutu glimmered in the stage lights. Elizabeth twirled her own pigtails as she admired the girl's, shiny and sleek and flawless. _She's the most beautiful thing in the world._ Elizabeth scanned her surroundings, trying to find where Father went. Three children ran past her and down the hall. She found him talking to the adults.

_Daddy isn't watching._

She slunk past a table and approached the stage as if going too fast would detonate it. The girl was even prettier in person. Elizabeth stood before the towering robot with just a twinge of fear in her body. _She's really tall._

"Uh... hello?" Elizabeth hesitated. The clown girl's eyes flicked down to meet the six-year-old's.

"Hello, Elizabeth."

She gasped. "You know me?" This forbidden encounter was suddenly more exciting.

"Of course I know you," replied the robot with an unbreaking grin. "I was created just for you. A gift, you could say." Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder at where Daddy's office was, mouthing, "Just for me?" She'd never thought the grown-up would do something so special. So why didn't he want her to see it?

_Maybe she's a birthday present_, she concluded.

"Would you like some ice cream, Elizabeth?"

Two surprises? How could she say no?

"Yes!" Elizabeth answered with a little hop, then frowned. _Where would she get..._ The clown girl began to shudder, her eyes closed. Elizabeth jumped back. What's happening to her? The robot stopped after a few seconds, opened her eyes, then watched a little compartment open up just above her belly. Elizabeth gasped in her hands. _Magic!_ There was a perfectly-swirled vanilla ice cream cone. The kindergartener stood on her tippy-toes to reach her prize. Got it! Elizabeth admired the treat for 0.001 seconds then struck the tip of it with her tongue. _Mmm!_

"Thank you," she said, looking back up to the animatronic, only to realise that something was wrong.

The clown's eyes had rolled to the back of her head; she kept twitching and jerking. Licking the ice cream off her lips, Elizabeth cocked her head. _Is she giving me more ice cream?_ The robot's stomach cracked open and out shot a nightmarish metal claw. Elizabeth had only enough time to scream as it pinched her sides and yanked her inside the belly of the beast. Her treat landed on the stage with a splat.

The air burned her skin. Elizabeth's eyes darted about, finding nothing but darkness. _I'm trapped!_ She screamed and banged her tiny fists on warm metal. Her sides ached- she knew she was bleeding. _I shouldn't have done this!_ Tears streamed down her face as she felt the sting of regret. _I shouldn't have done this._ She caught a distant sound and stopped, feeling hope run through her. _Mikey?_ He was under the table last time she'd checked.

"Help!" she tried to say but ice cream and fear coated her throat, making words impossible. She sucked in some air before belting a scream. _Notice me!_ The sound grew and so did Elizabeth's hope. She could hear it now- it was the other kids, shouting with excitement.

"HELP!"

Elizabeth hit the walls again. In response, the walls seemed to shrink. More metal stabbed her skin and she shrieked at the searing agony.

"Daddy," she sobbed through the pain. She knew it was hopeless now.

_I should have listened._

The walls came closer; pierced deeper.

_What comes after death?_ she wondered. _Mummy always talked about going to Heaven. I won't go there. I've been bad._ She swallowed with a dry throat.

"Anybody... Mummy... Mikey... please..."

She caught the glowing stare of two big blue eyes peering down at her.

"Make it stop," Elizabeth whimpered, "please. Let me out. I'll be good, I promise." The clown robot didn't flinch.

"I'll listen to Daddy." She wiped snot off her face and in doing so cut her elbow on a jagged rod. Every inch of her body screamed. Her leg was asleep but moving it now was impossible. Elizabeth stared into the robot's eyes as a last plea for mercy.

"I'm sorry," Circus Baby said before sending rods through the chamber, crushing Elizabeth. There was nothing but pain and darkness. And then just nothing.


	10. Where It All Started

William wiped the table for the umpteenth time, staring into his distorted reflection on the metal surface. _Today's the day_, he thought with a half-smile. He glanced up at his best friend on a stepladder, struggling to pin the "Welcome" sign to the ceiling. Henry had insisted he didn't need any help, and even got aggravated when William tried to anyway. _He's dedicated_, William knew. Nothing's going to stop him from accomplishing his goals. William had always been jealous of his friend's drive and determination. If it weren't for Henry, William wouldn't be standing in the shiny, brand-spanking-new family diner.

"Hey," Henry called, stepping down the ladder with care, "are we ready to suit up?" William perked up. He'd nearly forgotten about the suits.

"I thought you'd never ask," he quipped with a grin. The two headed to the back room, where two golden animatronics stood tall and proud. Henry adjusted their purple bow ties gently. William felt pride billow in his chest- he and Henry had been working on these suits for months. One was a bear, and one was a rabbit; the latter which William had insisted be built. The robots could function as programmed, unless put into suit mode, where what Henry had called "springlocks" held the robot's endoskeleton in place for a human to wear the now empty suit. They were special, especially to William, who hadn't really accomplished anything so special before. He stroked the rabbit's fur, visualising its inner mechanisms he'd poured sweat into building.

"Are you going to start snogging it?" teased a woman from behind. Henry chuckled while William turned, slightly flustered, to see his wife in the doorway.

"Martha, aren't you supposed to be helping to prepare the food?" he asked. Martha stepped forward and gave him a quick kiss. "I've finished it, love." William tucked one of her red flyaway hairs behind her ear. "Good." His brow furrowed when he noticed she came alone. "Where is our son?"

"Playing behind the show curtains," she replied without a hint of concern. William grunted, satisfied to hear that their troublesome little one-year-old wasn't across the street again. His eyes wandered back to the rabbit robot. The idea of wearing its skin felt exciting to him and he didn't know why.

"Let us change into our suits, Martha," he hurried, waving her off, then turned to Henry, who already had the handcrank in its slot on the side of the golden bear.

"I can't wait to see their little faces," Henry said through a grunt, turning the handcrank. William imagined what he was about to do: dance around in the springlock suit and watch as the children scream in excitement. That didn't seem very appealing to him, although the notion of anyone actually paying attention to him did. He gave Henry a nod. Henry caught the strange look crossing his friend's face.

"What's the matter?" William forced away the image of the children screaming but not in excitement.

"Nothing," he said quickly, squeezing his hands together. "Let's get these suits on, shall we?" Henry's moustache stretched with his smile. The two helped each other into the bulky suits, making sure to keep the springlocks wound up everywhere. William squinted down at his hands- his new thick and furry hands- and wiggled his fingers. The action felt weird and wrong but amazing at the same time.

"How does it feel?" asked the yellow bear standing in front of him.

"A bit tight, I'll admit," William spoke, slightly surprised at how well he could hear through the suit. The bear's mouth opened and a smaller mouth inside widened into a grin.

"That's because you need to put off a few pounds, friend," joked Henry. William rolled his eyes, dismissing the joke. _I walked into that one._ He tried to take a step forward. The extra weight on his legs challenged steady movement but as long as he went slow he wouldn't fall. The golden bear followed the golden bunny into the party room.

"So, Henry," William started. The bear turned halfway with a chuckle. "Fredbear, you mean. We have to get into character, you know."

"Right, Fredbear." He hesitated. "What do we do if the children are afraid of us?"

"Well..." Fredbear rubbed his chin. "I'm sure they'll love us, Will, but if they don't, we'll bribe them with free candy and hugs!" He laughed. William imagined the fluffy paws squeezing a small child so hard they _explode in a shower of blood_\- He stopped himself. _Don't think like that. _But the idea of standing over them, powerful and unstoppable!_ Their eyes wide with fear and tears streaming down their face as the black bunny's gigantic hands clutch a knife to their tiny throats-_

"Spring Bonnie?"

William snapped out of his reverie at Henry's voice, feeling sick with adrenaline.

"The children!" Fredbear exclaimed, clapping and bouncing awkwardly. "The children are coming!" William peered through the glass window, watching the little ankle-biters skip through the parking lot. His head spun in a cloud of mixed feelings. The suit, how tall and strong he was in it, the crowds, the kids, the noise they'd bring, the blood he could spill, the people he could disappoint- _I have to hold myself together. This is what we wanted._ He closed his eyes, forcing his scattered brain to think of the future: _He and his wife, with many children, running the most-popular diner in town. He and Henry dancing and singing to spread cheer to all the little children. He and the little children, covered in blood- No._

Was this what he wanted? To support his best friend and help him entertain children? He did, or so he thought.

The clamour of the families approaching brought him back into reality. William sighed, then forced a smile.

_Just pretend everything's okay like you always do._

"Hi, kids! Welcome to Fredbear's Family Diner! I'm Spring Bonnie, and this is my best friend, Fredbear!"


	11. First Dance

Shiny body parts laid all across the scratched-up floor. Afton took the pen from his mouth to jot down notes, hardly breaking eye contact with the body on the table. With the tip of the pen, he tapped the play button of a tape recorder on his desk.

"Trial number three. Testing auditory stimuli. Begin test one."

He approached his experiment, his gaze lingering too long on the glimmering crimson that stained the body's metal frame and wires, and tapped his fingernails three times on the cold surface of the work table.

**Twitch.**

"Responded to three taps on steel." Afton wrote that down, then swapped glances between his watch and his previous notes. He looked at his creation with an impatient glare, his lips pursed.

"Skipping test two and three. Begin test four." With slow precision, Afton flipped four switches on various parts of its body.

"Day mode activate." Afton chewed the tip of the pen. _Activate_, his mind begged as he watched the body. After thirty seconds, Afton shook his head and wrote that down.

"Failure to respond to-" The body jerked and spasmed, kicking its legs and waving its stubby arms. Afton jumped back and tripped into the swivel chair.

"Hello, children! My name is Ballora, and I am a ballerina! What shall we do today?" It stopped all movement except for the steady flickers of its eyes trying to focus on anything.

A small smile on his face, Afton took a breath to calm the pounding in his chest. He scribbled down the results of his test. "Activation successful." He rose from the chair and met the robot's gaze.

"Begin test five." He cleared his throat and held up five fingers before its face. "How many fingers do you see?"

It took too long to respond. "Zero." Afton's face fell.

"Failure."

He wrote in the journal, stuck his pen in his mouth, then took it out. "How many people are here in this room?"

"One... two..." It faltered. "Perhaps it is just me here."

The room fell silent and Afton felt his hopes get sucked out of his body, leaving him drained and agitated. He clicked the pen five times. The robot flinched.

"Someone is here. Where are you?" For just a second, Afton heard two voices speak those words. He gripped the pen tightly and ignored a sudden impulse to shiver.

"I am here in front of you."

"I cannot see you. Are you a child?"

"No." Afton reached across its face to flip off a switch, only to stop. His eyes trailed down the thing's body with intrigue. _Will it work today?_ He flicked a tiny switch in his creation's chest. His heart jolted in his own chest as the body shimmered and morphed. A distant ringing sound nagged at his ears but he ignored it. His creation's grey and red metal became pale flesh right before Afton's eyes. Eyes wide, he watched the face form flicker by flicker. That frizzy red hair; the slender nose pared with a slender face; those sparkling emerald eyes; her peachy-pink round lips. Afton squeezed the pen, his heart throbbing so much that it burned his chest.

_It worked._

He opened his mouth then hesitated.

"I did it again," he managed to spit out. He felt the grin stretch across his face, his sweaty fingers losing their grip on the pen. It clacked to the floor. The woman on the table reacted to the noise; her eyes searched for its source. Afton hoped her eyes would land on him.

"Where are you?" she cried out.

"I am here," he replied, his voice hushed. He hadn't noticed he was leaning forward.

_Not_ yet, his mind said, _she is not yet perfect! _But he couldn't help himself.

He tucked long haphazard locks of hair behind his ear, then leaned too close and found his lips touching hers. The feeling was real. He'd almost forgotten it. He stroked her face with shaking hands, still kissing her.

Then Afton pulled himself away. His head in a fog, he waited for a reaction. Or something. Perhaps an ounce of humanity. A flash of life.

Her eyes landed on Afton's. His breath caught in his throat.

"M-" he started but failed. Just attempting to say the name left a foul taste in his mouth. He pushed away bad memories. _Is she even there? Does she remember?_

Suddenly, she began to spasm as her chest split open in a red mess. His stomach twisting, Afton stumbled back and fell onto his chair for the second time.

_What's happening?!_

His lovely bloody experiment sat up and yanked its head in his direction. Afton scrambled to his feet, struggling to grasp an even breath.

His creation's skin rippled as she awkwardly shifted into a crawling position. She twisted joints in ways that shouldn't be possible. Her face cracked down the centre and Afton yelped. _The noise!_ The piercing shrill ringing was stabbing at his brain and Afton clutched his ears. On the floor, he felt like his body was going to explode.

"Ballora, deactivate Party Mode!" he said through gritted teeth. She stopped moving. For just a second. Then she leapt off the table, aiming to pin down her creator, but Afton shuffled away and she hit the desk. The ringing grew louder. Afton pushed himself to stand with the help of the bloody table and darted out the office.

Afton slammed the door behind him and broke into a sprint past the conveyor belts. _Hide. Boxes. Deactivate. How?_ He ducked his body rather forcibly into a crevice between boxes of various mechanical parts. He focused on the rhythm of his rapid breathing.

_I'm okay. She can't open doors-_

He jumped at the door slamming against the wall. _I didn't close it all the way_, he realised with a grimace.

He stiffened as he felt his ears sting and his gut wrench. S_he's coming. She's looking for me._ He tried to swallow away his beating heart. _I don't want to die here. I don't want to die here. Not like this._ Through the ringing, he heard metal shuffling- getting closer. _Wait, where was it coming from?_ His question was answered when he felt a wet tap on his face. He wiped his nose, his eyes widening at the blood on his hand. _She's above me._ He dared to look. There it was, a mechanical abomination with parts of its body flickering faux human skin, clinging to the ceiling like a spider. Afton covered his mouth to stifle a shout.

"The party isn't over yet!" Ballora declared, her voice echoing. "Let's have more fun. Come dance with me!"

_She can't see me_, he realised and took a calming breath. His body relaxed but only a little. _I need to find my RCS controller._ He sucked in air and held it, slowly rising from his hiding spot. _Don't make a sound. Where did I have it last?_ He squeezed through the space between the boxes, careful to not knock any over. _Back in my office._ He paused to control his breathing and plan. _How am I going to get there? If I run, she'd catch me. I'm going to have to go slow._

Afton assumed a crouching position and crept past more boxes and a few endoskeletons propped up on the wall. He stopped to take a glimpse at where his attacker might be. She roamed about the ceiling, still searching. Afton continued. _Steady and quiet._ He brushed past a metal rod poking too far out from the conveyor belt.

**Clink.**

Afton ducked under the conveyor system and tried to become as small as possible. A metallic screech sounded, followed by a crash. Afton covered his mouth and froze. He watched it crawl around on unfinished legs and arms, not ready to give up searching for him. After what seemed like an agonising hour, the robot left the area. Afton began belly-crawling forward. The action drained all his energy but he kept at it. He felt like a wet sock trying to move. He stopped when he heard it approaching again. The feet scratched up the warehouse floor trying to approach him.

_You don't see me. You don't see me._

The robot-woman's head lowered to face Afton, who snapped shut his eyes at her glowing ones burning his retinas.

_You don't see me._

She climbed on top of the inactive conveyor belt.

"Why do you hide inside your walls, when there is music in my halls?" she sang. Afton listened to her leave. She continued, "All I see is an empty room. No more joy, an empty tomb." Afton began crawling again. _Almost there._

_"_It's so good to sing all day; to dance, to spin, to fly away."

Afton slowly got to his feet. He snuck through his trashed office, stepping over every obstacle on the floor. _Where is it?_ his brain panicked as he scanned every possible location. He ripped open a file cabinet drawer then facepalmed.

"There you are!" bellowed Ballora. "Now you can DANCE WITH ME!" Afton searched every drawer, using every muscle in his body to not glance over his shoulder. Got it! He whirled around to face a leaping robot and slammed his finger on the shock button. Her screech was deafening. The seizing robot's heavy body crashed into Afton, who smacked his head on the corner of the desk. There was a flash of white.

Afton blinked away a soggy daze and shoved his experiment off him. He quickly deactivated it before it could recover.

_I didn't die._ A victory smile flashed on his face. He stashed away the shock controller and stared at his creation, who had properly taken the human form. As he reached for the switch to turn it off, he hesitated. The woman slept peacefully, her soft breath tickling Afton's skin.

"You remember," he said softly. "You know what I did to you." The guilt ate him like hungry maggots in a dumpster. He clenched his fists, his eyes burning.

"I had to," he told himself. "I had to do it." He caressed her cheek then tore his hand away.

"But now look at you. You're almost perfect now." He let his back fall against the wall with a sigh. "It's been tough without you, my love. I prefer constructing elaborate machines more than raising two boys alone. One of them hates me, and the other... let's just say he's quite forgetful."

Afton finally stood up and heard a crunch under his feet. He groaned, picking up a cracked tape recorder. The machine was fine but the tape would be a waste of time trying to fix.

"It doesn't matter," he grumbled, even though it did. He gave his love another glance before he picked his journal and pen up off the floor and began to write everything that had happened. Then he picked up his creation and set her down on the table. He flipped the last switch.

"You will be perfect soon, my ballerina." He winced at his head throbbing. "Perhaps next time you'll thank me instead of trying to kill me."


End file.
